Elements of Deviance
by The Dust In Dreams
Summary: In the long forgotten folklore of Alagaësia, there lies a tale that has not been told for years... R&R!
1. Prologue

**A/N: Well, after a _very _long absence from publishing anything (I think it's been about a year or more) I'm back, with an Inheritance Cycle fic. Thanks go to my always entertaining friend Gollum-4077, for coaxing me out of hiding and just generally being the encouraging friend she is.**

**Disclaimer: Oh, you recognise something? Sorry. I don't own it.**

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><p><em>Long before the dark times of Galbatorix, long before the Dragon Riders, long before leafy halls of the elves, there lived an even more ancient order. Their origin lies in the same shrouded mists as the origins of the dragons and the dwarves, and perhaps it shall never be revealed. Perhaps it already has. Perhaps it has been common knowledge for centuries, but the meaning forgotten.<em>

_They were the Elementals._

_Possessing the power over the four elements – fire, earth, air and water – they shaped Alagaësia into the land it is today, and governed the elements with benevolence. They were taught not to be corrupt, that they must be content with their lot and the element that they were given. Rarely were there any fights between the Elementals, for although they were subject to envy, they were extremely reluctant to fight, lest they tear the world apart with their anger._

_Governed and taught by the First Elementals, they became famed for their calm nature, their loyalty towards Alagaësia's people and their refusal to upset the balance of nature._

_But, like all societies, abnormalities existed among the Elementals. A common bloodline, forged from the children of the First Elementals, passed through the other Elementals, from mother to daughter, father to son – the potential to have a child that would grow to be a Deviant Elemental._

_The Deviant Elementals were highly unusual. They did not possess a single element, but all of them. Their gift came with a price, however – until they were taught to control it, a Deviant had to remain emotionally subdued, or else their gift would wreak catastrophic events across Alagaësia. For this reason, Deviants were kept separate from society, to prevent any kind of strong emotion taking over. Deviants were only trained at the age of seventeen, a year earlier than a usual Elemental, to further enforce the values of subdued emotions._

_And so this way of life continued for as long as anyone could remember. The Elementals watched the elves and the humans come to the shores of Alagaësia, develop their societies and live. They watched love, anger, fear, resentment grow among them. They wept for the lives lost in the Dragon War, and the wars among men. They rejoiced when peace fell over the land, and the Dragon Riders formed. They continued to help shape Alagaësia, as they had done for as long as their order had existed, for they knew no other purpose but this. They watched, and protected, and taught, through the horrors of the Fall of the Riders._

_When Galbatorix first came to power, he stretched out the hand of friendship towards the Elementals, for friendship with Elementals would mean power over all domains. But, knowing of his misdeeds and the horrors he had committed, the Elementals refused it, declaring that they could not possibly be allied with a man who had so relentlessly slaughtered his friends._

_When the king heard of their refusal, a wild rage grew within him, and he gave the order that all Elementals were to be killed in punishment for defying him._

_Under the influence of this new king, his officials obeyed, and the people turned on the race that had helped shape Alagaësia since the beginning of time. All throughout the land, Elementals were hunted down, and murdered for the 'crime' of possessing the power of an element. Some were drowned, others strangled, some murdered in their beds, but most were burned at the stake in public, as a message to the peoples of Alagaësia – the new king would not be defied by anyone, not even those who held such power as the Elementals did._

_So great was the sorrow of the Elementals for the loss of their kind that they retreated into their elements, and they faded into the history of Alagaësia as nothing but folklore, lying forgotten amidst tales of faeries and elves._

_Yet although Alagaësia had forgotten them, the Elementals did not forget Alagaësia. Rather, they actively sought to protect themselves and what remained of their kind from the horrors of Galbatorix, by nurturing their elements and shaping their powers to remain separate from the politics of man and elf and dwarf._

_And so life in Alagaësia continued, unaware of the powers that helped to preserve it. Rare though they were, any Elemental that was discovered was quickly educated to believe that it was not wise to interfere in human politics, that it was better to remain secluded from that which could bring them all to ruin once more._

_But for all the gathering of Elementals, there were no new Deviants. _

_At least, not until years later._

_There were no celebrations for the discovery of this new Deviant. Instead, she was concealed from all the peoples of Alagaësia, from the elves, the dwarves, and especially the men. The Deviant was trained to know to use her powers to assist Alagaësia. She was learned in the matter of diplomacy, warfare and healing._

_Yet for all the knowledge that the Elementals could give her, she was blind to the one fault that befalls all humans at some point in their lives._

_Love._

_It was for love that the Deviant chose to marry and bear a child. It was for love of this child that she chose to put aside her long-standing belief that seclusion was the best option for the Elementals, and to take up arms to join the Varden and fight Galbatorix. It was for love of her kind that she sought the blessing of the First Elementals, for what better protection was there than that of the Varden with the blessing of the Elementals?_

_It was then that the Elementals chose to consult their policy of seclusion, and they found it to be wanting. While they might grow stronger from keeping their existence hidden, the threat of Galbatorix was too large to be ignored any more, and they gave their blessing to the Deviant and to the Varden._

_The Deviant chose to assist the Varden in their war against Galbatorix. However, the First Elementals were reluctant to let her go into battle. The last Deviant had died at the hands of Galbatorix, and for another Deviant to die so suddenly would tear the chain of Elementals apart._

_But the Deviant would not be swayed from her decision, and she went into battle, swearing that she would not fail to avenge the many Elementals that had died at the hands of Galbatorix._

_Galbatorix had other plans, though. Moving swiftly, his forces attacked the camp where the Deviant rested her head, and decimated them. The Deviant, however, vanished from the world, leaving no trace that she had been there._

_All that remained of the Deviant was her daughter, growing up with no idea of who she was or what she was capable of doing._

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><p>Please review!<p> 


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! I'm so glad people enjoyed the prologue. Here's the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own.**

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><p>Dreaming is a dangerous pastime.<p>

If you continue to dream, sometime you receive more than you bargain for. If you receive more than you bargain for, you are often out of your depth. If you are out of your depth, you cannot react as you usually do. If you cannot react as you usually do, you panic. If you panic, you are more likely to die.

But these dark thoughts did not concern the group of people celebrating the sixteenth birthday of a young lad from the village of Littlewood.

Littlewood was a simple sort of town. Named for the pockets of forest that surrounded it, it was secluded, and yet freely accessible by any who wished to visit. There were four roads in the village – two leading in, and two leading out. The folk who lived there never particularly cared who they associated with, but they were careful not to draw attention to themselves by associating with troublemakers. If you lived there, you knew who you were, what your role in society was, and you learned very quickly that skepticism was the safest form of defense.

But all the skepticism and defense had been forgotten for the day, while the people celebrated. Ribbons hung from every conceivable point, food lay spread out on large tables, wine and ale was passed around, and merriment was the look on everyone's faces.

The young lad, or man as he was now to be known, had been plied heavily with ale, and was now lounging next to his best friend and watching the villagers dance to the music of a few minstrels that his father had hired playing fiddles, harps and drums.

"You know, you should really ask one of the girls to dance," his friend told him.

"Maybe, if I can tell which way to stand!"

The two laughed, and then his friend grinned. "But you're a man now, you should be able to grab a girl easily! They'll all want to dance with the new man."

"Not all of them. Look." He pointed to a young woman sitting on a bench by herself and watching the rest of the villagers dancing. A bright red ribbon was entwined through her thick hair, the only sign of her celebration besides a look of quiet cheerfulness on her face.

"Yeah, but Lianne's always been a cold fish," his friend reminded him. "Ever since she and her father set up here, she's always been like that. Never really gets involved with anyone." He moved closer to his friend, and lowered his voice as if he were telling some great secret. "I heard Lukan tried to sweet-talk her last spring, and she said no. Turned him down flat! Well, you know Lukan. Never had a girl say no to him before, not with his looks. Got all defensive about it and tried to make out that she'd been trying to sweet-talk him, but nobody listened."

"Your point?"

"She wasn't interested in Lukan. She doesn't work that way."

"Still worth a try, isn't it?"

His friend sighed and took a gulp of ale. "On your own head, Your Manliness."

The lad grinned and stood up. "Wish me luck."

"Oh, I'll wish you something. It won't be luck, though."

He grinned again, and walked over to the young woman. "Hello Lianne."

She looked up, and smiled. "Hello Ardan. Happy birthday."

Ardan smiled. "Thanks. Mind if I sit down?"

"Not at all." She moved over to make room, and he sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Enjoying your party?" she asked.

"It's wonderful." They watched the villagers dancing for a few minutes, before he turned to her. "Would you like to dance?"

She bit her lip, but nodded hesitantly. "That would be nice."

He stood up, and extended his hand. She took it, and allowed him to pull her up to a standing position. As they made their way into the centre of the group of dancing villagers, there was almost a feeling of shock from them. Lianne _never _danced. She never made friends, never really talked to anyone, never got involved with anything at all.

Still, it was a party, she reasoned. She should at least make _some_ attempt to enjoy it.

As they finished the dance, Lianne was a little breathless, with a smile on her face. 'I'm going to get something to drink," she told Ardan. "Thank you for the dance."

Ardan nodded. "You're welcome."

As she filled her cup with some ale, she saw Lucy, another pretty young villager with mischievous brown eyes, beginning a dance with Ardan, who seemed a little bemused by it all. Lianne smiled. Ardan was nice, but it was clear that the ale and the high spirits of the night had had quite an effect on him, because he would never normally ask her to dance. Nobody ever did.

"I thought I told you not to get involved."

Lianne whirled around, her hair flying, to see a middle-aged man, tall and well-built, standing in the shadows, watching her with a cautionary look on his face. She shrugged, smiling at him. "It's a dance, Father. It's not a crime."

"You could bring everything down."

"Father, you've been saying that for as long as I can remember. Nothing's ever happened. Why would it?"

"Because-" He stopped as a particularly cheerful drunk ambled towards the table, swept up a jug of ale, and proceeded to stagger off, gulping the ale as he went.

Her father sighed. "Just don't get _too_ involved."

"With a father like you, how can I?"

She was moving away again, and then her father tapped her arm. "Be back an hour after sundown," he told her.

She nodded obediently. He was only worried that the revelries might get too much for her, she reasoned. A curfew was his way of keeping her safe. It was a little restricting, but perfectly reasonable.

"You promise me you'll keep to it?" His grip on her arm tightened. "Promise?"

"All right, I promise!" she told him. "I'll be back an hour after sundown. Try not to pace the floor right through."

He relinquished his grip, and disappeared, leaving her wondering what on earth it was she would find when she returned home.

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><p>The road was rather slippery underfoot, and Lianne had to judge her footing very carefully. She had left the high spirits of the party with relative ease, save for a lone drunken Mikhail who had had to be dragged away by Niall the tavern owner. She had heard Mikhail's pleas for one more drink as she slipped through the town and towards her home.<p>

The lanterns were lit inside her home, and there was obviously a fire going, for she felt warmth as soon as she stepped inside. "Father?" she called. "I'm home."

"Lower your voice and come here," he told her.

Confused, she obeyed, heading through the small home. Entering her room, she saw him sitting on a small stool with a small bag in his hands. He handed it to her, and she glanced at it. "Look inside," her father told her. Obeying, she discovered a waterskin that smelled distinctly of mead, and a thin parchment parcel, yellowed with age, and with a lone word on the front. She tried to make out the word, but couldn't make it out from the sharp lines and circles.

"It says your name," her father told her. "It's a letter."

"But I can't read," she protested. "Why do I have a letter when I can't read?"

Her father sighed. "I want you to swear to me you will obey the instructions I'm going to give you. Whatever happens, you must not disobey me, even if my life depends on it. Do you swear?"

She frowned, even more confused. She had always obeyed her father – he was there to look out for her. Why would he need reassurance of her obedience? She nodded cautiously. "I swear."

He seemed satisfied. "You know the way to Leonasflow, yes?"

She nodded. "Why?"

"You're going to go there. Don't speak to anyone on your way, especially not Imperial soldiers. Hide the letter from anyone and everyone you meet. You can't let anyone know you have it. Leave _no_ trail. I cannot stress that enough, Lianne. You _must _not leave a trace of evidence that you have been anywhere."

"But why?"

Her father lowered his voice even more. "There's been a rumour circulating that there's another Dragon Rider, yes?"

Lianne nodded, scoffing internally at her own father's folly. Nobody thought it was true, though. Every so often it would happen, but it always proved to be false. Why would it be different this time?

"It's true," her father told her. "There _is_ a new Rider. He'll help you, but you must stay alive and keep the letter with you at all times. You cannot let any of the Empire's men get hold of it, or it will mean disaster for all. Do not drink from the waterskin at all."

"Father, how can you know?"

"Lianne, that is not important for you to know," he rebuked her. "Listen to what I am telling you now. Do not get distracted from questions with answers that are not yours to know."

She hung her head, shame-faced. "Yes, Father." She looked up at him. "I don't even know where the Rider is, though."

"Follow the Ra'zac from Leonasflow. They're heading south, and it's fairly obvious that they're hunting the Rider."

"But I can't fight. They'll kill me."

"Then run. You have legs, don't you?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "Lianne, I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important."

"But why aren't you coming with me?" she asked.

He sighed. "Someone's got to make sure the Imperial soldiers don't follow you." He stood up, and she saw an old sword leaning against the wall behind him. Why did he have a sword? He kissed her forehead, and looked at her. "Go. Everyone's too drunk to care who's there and who's not, and if anyone starts searching for you, they'll think you're at the party. You remember what I told you?"

"Go to Leonasflow, follow the Ra'zac from there to find the Rider," she repeated. "Don't talk to anyone, especially not Imperial soldiers, and keep the letter with me at all times. Run if they catch me. Oh, and don't drink from the waterskin."

"Good girl." He hugged her, and then released her. "May the elements guide you." With that, he picked up the sword and returned to his sitting position on the stool, but this time, he laid the sword across his lap.

There was a shout from outside, and their eyes widened in horror. "Go!" her father ordered. "Now!"

She ran through the house, snatching up her cloak and heading out the back door. As she ran through the door and out into the night, looking back, she saw men dressed in the uniform of the Empire heading into the house, and she wondered what significance the letter in her hands held for them.

As she reached the fringe of trees around Littlewood, she cast a look back, and was horrified to see the little house she had called home alight, and the company of soldiers heading into Littlewood. What if they hurt any of the people there? She had never really had friends there, but murder was still wrong, and if any of them were hurt, it would be because of this letter.

Was a letter really worth people's lives?

She almost began to head back into Littlewood, but her father's words rang through her head. _"You cannot let any of the Empire's men get hold of it or it will mean disaster for all._" She had _sworn _she would not disobey him, even if his life depended on it. She had always obeyed him so far. She couldn't let him down now.

So she ducked into the trees and ran.

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><p><strong>AN: On a side note, I'll be updating this every Tuesday. Feel free to give me constructive criticism, but I don't accept flames. Either way, please review!**

**Sarah :D**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter. Here's the new one, as promised.**

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise, I don't own.**

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><p>As she leaned against a tree and tried to get her breath back, Lianne cursed the letter.<p>

Her head was pounding with the sound of her heartbeat, and every fibre of her body felt as if it were on fire. Her feet were scratched and swollen from when her shoes had finally fallen off, having outlived their usefulness, and her ankle was swollen from having twisted it. She had hastily torn a strip of her skirt off, and wrapped it around her ankle, although it offered little relief from the pain. There were cuts and bruises on her arms that bore dried blood, and looked like they could be infected. She hadn't eaten in what felt like years, and she could tell that she was gradually getting thinner and weaker from it. Every evening she was freezing, and every day her clothes grew more tattered from running. She had traded her cloak for another waterskin, but even that was finished now. The only thing that sat in her bag was now the letter and the waterskin her father had given her. She was filthy from the dust on the road and weary from nights spent trying to get a better lead on the soldiers.

She knew she couldn't keep it up much longer. Sooner or later she would collapse, and then she would certainly die, whether from exhaustion or from the soldiers.

For the time being, she had to keep running. She had passed Leonasflow some time ago – she hadn't even gone into the village for fear that she would lead the soldiers there and allow them to burn down another house - and she now had no idea of where she was. East? West? North? South?

She looked up, and wondered where on earth she was. All the trees looked the same – there would be no help from them, even if they could talk.

There was a shout from behind her, and she looked to see the soldiers riding after her. There was no way she would be able to evade them – not if they had horses.

Still, she forced her feet to make one last attempt to run away. As she moved through the trees, her foot caught a stray root and she fell, feeling her ankle throb as it twisted again. She let out a strangled yelp, and tried to cover her mouth, but it was too late, and the soldiers were getting closer.

That was it. She was dead, and she knew it.

She lay there until the soldiers caught up. Two of them leered at her and grabbed hold of her arms, pulling her up into a standing position. "So, you're the thief that stole that letter, eh?" asked one, obviously the leader. He surveyed her with a disdainful glance, looking at her thin frame and bedraggled appearance. "Well, you're not worth much to us now. May as well sell you to the slavers." He moved towards her. "But you've still got something of ours, and we want it back."

She tried to draw up any remaining spit that she might have had, and spat at him full in the face. There wasn't much, but he slapped her anyway, and she let out a cry. "Witch," he snarled, wiping the spit off his face. "Search her, and tie her up." He pointed to the other soldiers, and walked towards his horse.

The two soldiers that held her arms snickered, and Lianne's heart sank. What would they do to her? She was frightened enough of death, but if they chose to do something else to her…

One of the soldiers took the bag, and ferreted around inside it for a moment, before bringing the letter out. "Sir! I've got it!"

The leader of the soldiers strode over to them and snatched the letter out of his junior's hands. "Tie her up. She's coming with us."

As they tightly bound her wrists with rope and took turns sneering at her, Lianne silently cursed the fact that she hadn't hidden the letter better. If she'd had more sense, she wouldn't have left it in the bag for them to find – it was blatantly obvious!

Her father would be so ashamed of her. What would he say if he knew she had been so _brainless_?

But nevertheless, the letter had been found, and she would have to escape the soldiers and get it back. What would her father have done? she wondered.

"What did you do to my father?" she asked one of them, as he dragged her forward, yanking her arms.

"Dead. What else?" they answered carelessly. "Shame the old man didn't put up more of a fight, really."

Lianne stopped short, but the soldier kept walking, and she was forced to keep moving, or be dragged along the ground. It didn't stop her hands from shaking, though.

Her father? Dead? No, no, it wasn't possible. He couldn't be…

Tears dripped from her face as she thought. Her father had been the only family she had ever known. There was no great secret that her mother had died when Lianne was small. Her father had had no relatives, save for a sister who had died when she was thirteen. Their family might have been small, but she had loved her father fiercely, and he had loved her in return. He might have been strict about some things, but she knew that he always had her best interests at heart. He never got drunk, never got in trouble, never fought anyone –

He had had a sword.

Why had he had that sword? He'd _never_ had a sword, or at least, not one that she knew of. Nobody in Littlewood had owned so much as a dagger, let alone a sword. He couldn't fight, either. So why had he had a sword? Did he know that the Empire would come for the letter? Did they consider him a threat? How?

There was complete silence as they dragged her on behind them, and the hours whiled away as Lianne thought and wondered. Even when she tripped, but the soldiers didn't stop, and she discovered that trying to get up whilst being dragged along the ground was a very difficult job indeed. By the time they stopped, it was getting dark, and Lianne was grazed all over.

"Tie her to that tree," the leader ordered, pointing to a large tree. "She escapes and we're done for."

"Can't we have some fun with her, sir?" asked one, with a lewd expression on his face.

The leader cuffed him over the head. "You stupid? Our orders are to get the letter and then to bring her back with it, _undamaged_. You think they'll-" He cut himself off, suddenly aware that Lianne was listening. "_Undamaged,_" he repeated.

Lianne was roughly manhandled towards the tree, wrists still bound tightly, and forced to sit down. The two soldiers pushed her hard against it, and wrapped a rope around her torso and around the tree, securing it tightly. One of them, a middle aged man who looked about as old as her father, seemed a little sorry for her, but then he seemed to catch himself and he went back over to the rest of the soldiers.

As the soldiers supplied themselves and their horses with food, Lianne watched hungrily. It may have only been some bread, but it was still food, and she hadn't eaten in a long time. What she would give for some of it…

She watched them settle down, and one produced her waterskin from her bag, and the scent of mead wafted around. As she watched them drink, infuriated by the theft of her belongings, she noticed the older man give her a few pitying glances, at least until the mead drew his attention back to his companions. As he and his companions plied each other with the honeyed alcohol, Lianne watched them steadily get drunker with every sip they took. As they drowsily slumped in front of the small fire they sat around, Lianne realized what her father had done. In his last gift to her, he had drugged the contents, so that if she was caught, she could escape.

Sadness plagued her thoughts, tinged with anger and frustration that she couldn't get free of her bonds. She was so _useless!_ She lashed out, kicking the ground in front of her but ended up kicking a pile of dirt into her face. Suddenly, she could sense that the ropes were looser on her than they had been before, and she slipped out from the ropes that tied her to the tree. Uncertainly, she glanced back at the tree.

It seemed almost smaller, somehow. But that was impossible. Trees didn't shrink. They grew, certainly, but they never shrank.

Her mind must be playing tricks on her, she thought. Perhaps the soldiers hadn't tied her as tight as she had thought. She sighed, and moved towards one of the sleeping soldiers. Cutting the ropes around her wrists with his dagger, she stood up and began searching for the letter in the bags. She went through armour and weapons, food and drink, coins and riding tack, but there was no letter to be found.

It was time to change tactics, she decided. If she'd been the leader, where would she have hidden such a big secret?

She'd have kept it close. She'd slept with the bag clutched to her chest when she'd had the few opportunities to sleep safely. Perhaps the leader had decided to employ the same tactic?

Slowly, she crept towards where he lay, snoring in his drunken slumber. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell of mead and sweat on him. Nudging him with one toe, she made sure he was fast asleep before searching him. She went through his pockets, discovering nothing. Just as she was about to give up, he rolled over, and she noticed the letter poking out from underneath his body. Carefully, she began to edge it out, praying that it wouldn't tear. At one point, the leader's eyelids fluttered, and Lianne's hand shot out from the letter like an arrow from a bow, but whatever had disturbed his slumber had stopped, and he calmed down again. She continued working the letter out from underneath him, and finally, she had only to pull a small corner out from underneath him and she could leave.

As she did so, she caught sight of her bag and the waterskin of mead. Examining them, she found that the soldiers hadn't finished the mead, and she slipped it back into the bag, along with the letter. If she were ever in this situation again, the mead would prove useful to her.

She turned to leave, and then her father's words rang in her head once again – "_Leave no trail_".

If she left the soldiers alive, they'd come after her again, and the situation would continue until she either died or gave the letter up permanently.

But she didn't want to kill them. Could she do that? Could she kill them while they slept?

"_Leave no trail._"

It was her safety at risk. She couldn't afford to leave them alive.

But that still didn't mean she could just kill them while they lay there like children.

They had _murdered _her father.

But that wasn't a real reason for her to kill them… was it?

She had sworn to obey him. She never disobeyed her father.

"_Leave no trail._"

She had to do it. No matter how much she regretted it.

Quietly, she took the dagger of the leader. Standing over him, she looked away with tears in her eyes as she pushed the dagger into his heart. She could feel the blood vessels and muscle give way, and his heartbeat began to slow. Removing the dagger, she repeated the process with the rest of the soldiers. By now, tears were flowing freely down her face. But when she got to the soldier that had looked as if he pitied her, she hesitated. He looked so much like her father while he slept. Could she really kill someone like that?

"_Leave no trail._"

Screwing her eyes shut, she plunged the dagger into his heart, and took it out. Flinging it away into the trees, she bit her lip to keep from crying out in horror and shame. The wind had picked up quite a bit, and was now whipping her hair around her face. She could feel herself shake as she cast her mind back a few seconds.

What had she done? She was a murderer now.

No, she couldn't think about that or she would go mad. Madness wasn't a good option – it was too early in her mission to be going mad.

Loosing the horses, she let them run away to find a better home. As she let the last one go, she wondered whether she should have kept one for herself. She couldn't keep walking like this – she'd never get anywhere. Neither could she ride. And if she were riding a horse, it would draw more attention to herself, something that she couldn't afford. No, it was better to walk.

She left the campsite, still feeling incredibly guilty about what she had done. As she walked, she felt hunger lick at her belly once again; a reminder of how little she had eaten. There had been a constant light-headedness and a dull buzzing in her ears while she had been running, but it had been dulled down by adrenaline. The adrenaline had worn off now, and the light-headedness was coming back in a heavy dose.

The wind stopped abruptly, and she swayed suddenly, grabbing hold of a tree to keep herself upright. How could she be this weak and not have noticed? Was she in shock?

The dull buzzing became a roaring darkness, and she slumped against the tree, welcoming the darkness as a respite from weariness and exhaustion.

There was a pair of arms helping her up suddenly, and a voice, although she couldn't hear what it was saying. Was it her father? No, it was too young… but then the voice had morphed into her father's. "Father?" she mumbled. "I can't hear you."

The pair of arms were supporting her, and moving along. "I'm not your father," the voice said brusquely. But it was her father's voice, so how could it not be him?

Lianne sighed, and allowed herself to be carried onto a horse. She slumped against the rider, and mumbled, "I knew you weren't dead, Father." There was a faint smile on her face.

"I'm not your father, I told you," answered the voice, sounding irritated. "My name is Murtagh."

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><p><strong>AN: Not the best ending, I know, but it serves its purpose. Please review!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: I know, right? As soon as I say I'll update weekly on Tuesdays, I go and break my promise. BUT… I have a good excuse. I've been snowed under by work lately and I'd only just managed to dig my way out of there when my brother broke his wrist and everything got a bit hectic. Anyway, here's the chapter. Hope it clears up some questions from a few reviewers (you know who you are).**

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><p>"<em>Why?"<em>

_The faces swam before her, sad and angry and fearful all at the same time. She tried to hide from them, closing her eyes, but their eyes drilled into her eyelids and sat there accusingly._

She was burning, all over. Her skin was alight with searing heat, and she wasn't sure how. How could she be this hot? It felt as if she had been plunged into a fire, but the flames weren't hurting her. Instead, they were almost calming, like the sound of an old friend's voice…

"_You killed me," said one of the soldiers. He looked terrified of her. "You took my dagger and you killed me while I slept. How low can you get?"_

"_You would have taken me to the Empire!" she argued. "I didn't want to kill you!"_

There was hard ground beneath her back, and fresh, soothing air whispering to her skin, trying in vain to cool her down…

_The soldier who had pitied her shook his head. "I had a wife and three children, you know," he told her. "My eldest was only a few years younger than you. You reminded me of her so much, and yet you killed me."_

_Tears were dripping down her face at this point. "I'm sorry!" she told them. "I'm so sorry I killed you!"_

"_Being sorry will not stop us from haunting you," spat the leader. "You're a liar and a thief and a murderer."_

There was a hand pressing something cold and damp against her forehead, but she didn't know who it was. Her father? No, he was dead, cut down by the Empire's soldiers or burned to a crisp in fire. He had left her alone to fend for herself, when she was clearly out of her depth. Who was it?

"_I'm sorry!" she told them. "I wish there was another way!"_

* * *

><p>What was he doing? He didn't get involved in things like this. He never rescued anyone, not like this. She'd slow him down – it was better to leave her where she had been. She was delirious – that just complicated things even further. How could he expect to keep himself alive long enough to get out of the Empire if he was held back by a girl with delirium?<p>

He sighed, and pressed the damp cloth to her forehead again. She was mumbling, but he couldn't understand what she was saying. It sounded almost as if she were apologizing. He wondered what – or who – she was hallucinating about. Obviously she had done something wrong, but who to? Had she stolen something? It must have been fairly important if there had been Imperial soldiers after her. But at the same time, she didn't look like a thief, and he would have heard if there were something the Empire wanted.

She let out a particularly pained whimper, and suddenly the fire, which had been slowly dying down, lit up again, sending a single flame higher than it should have been. He frowned – he hadn't added anything to it in a long time… so why was it suddenly starting up again?

It died down as quickly as it had started, and he looked back at the girl, who had fallen into a deeper, calmer, sleep, and sighed heavily. What was he getting himself into?

* * *

><p>Lianne woke to a distinct crackling sound, and the scent of smoke. She blearily opened her eyes, desperately trying to defeat the protests that her body was making. Deciding that she would listen to her body for once, she closed her eyes again and, smiling, sank into the welcoming depths of deep, dreamless sleep. It was only as she let her battered body relax that she realised that she couldn't remember lighting a fire. Indeed, she couldn't remember setting up any sort of camp at all. The rapid, oncoming knowledge made her open her eyes again, but this time she was alert and suspicious. She sat up, and immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness threatened to overcome her.<p>

"Lie back down," commanded a low masculine voice. "You'll undo all my good work."

She obeyed reluctantly. "Who are you?"

_Where was the letter?_

The thought made her sit up again, and as the dizziness crashed upon her once again, she fought it off, and searched for her small bag. Looking up, she saw a young man, probably only about a year older than she was, sitting with a sheathed sword and a longbow near her side of the fire and watching her with an expression on his face that she couldn't quite define. He was certainly handsome in a dark, brooding sort of way, with grey eyes and brown hair and an air of cynicism wrapped about him like the cloak he wore, as if he didn't quite trust the entire world around him. "Who are you?" she repeated.

"Murtagh." His reply was short, brusque, and he sounded like he regretted something – perhaps he hadn't wanted to rescue her. No, she could tell that it ran much deeper than that. What was it? "And your name?

"Lianne," she replied, cautiously. She spotted a small loaf of bread next to him, and eyed it hungrily.

He noticed, and broke some off and offered it to her. "You want some? Here, take it."

She nodded, and accepted the bread, devouring it within seconds. He seemed somewhat amused by her actions, and offered her some more. "Don't eat it all at once," he told her. "How long is it since you last ate?"

"A while," she replied, taking another bite out of the bread. "Quite a while." She moved suddenly. "Have you got my bag?" she asked, accusingly.

He dangled it in front of her. "Odd combination of belongings," he commented, and handed it to her. She opened it and found both the waterskin and the letter sitting there. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Did you drug those soldiers?" he asked.

She looked up, and her head span again. "It wasn't my doing."

"Don't lie. They were drugged – any fool can see that. Not to mention your mead is obviously drugged. I'm surprised they didn't notice. Then again, the Empire's soldiers aren't usually the brightest people in Alagaësia."

She coloured slightly. "It really wasn't my doing. I didn't know the mead was drugged until I saw them drink it."

Murtagh seemed to regard her curiously. "So you've not drunk it?"

She shook her head, and then stopped. "Why are you asking me all these questions? Who are you, anyway?"

"I told you – I'm Murtagh. As for why I'm asking you questions… Well, any fool knows not to trust someone who killed six Imperial soldiers with some drugged mead."

Lianne bit her lip and looked away. "I didn't want to kill them," she murmured. "I really didn't want to."

Murtagh nodded. "No. You don't seem like the kind of person that enjoys killing."

"I haven't ever killed anyone before," she retorted. "And while we're asking questions, why did you help me?"

He shrugged. "I saw the dead soldiers. Decided I probably owed you a favour. If you hadn't killed them, I would have had to. You know that someone will notice that four Imperial soldiers are dead, don't you?"

Lianne looked at him, horrified. "_What?_"

"Four soldiers are sent out, presumably to find someone, and you kill them. Someone will notice when they don't report back to their commander."

Lianne began to panic. If the Empire went looking, they'd find the bodies of the dead soldiers. If they found the bodies, they'd find her tracks. And then they'd find her. And then they'd find the letter, and this time they wouldn't hesitate in killing her. What was she going to do? "Why are you telling me this?" she demanded.

"So you know what you've done. The only chance you've got is to go somewhere they won't find you."

"What if they find the bodies?"

"They won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I took care of it."

"But _why_ are _you _helping _me_? What does it matter to you if the Empire's soldiers are around here?"

"Because I'm like you. I'm running away from the Empire." He paused, and when it seemed she was satisfied with his explanation, or at least unwilling to press the subject further, he gestured to the blankets that lay around her. "You should rest. You've been fairly ill."

She shook her head. "Have you got some water? I'm thirsty."

He handed her a waterskin. "Here. It's got water in it – and it's _not_ drugged."

She took a few sips of the water and swallowed, enjoying the cool, fresh feel of it. She handed the waterskin back, and smiled gratefully. Lying back down, she turned on her side to watch him. "Can you read?" she asked.

He seemed taken aback by the odd question. "Yes," he answered uncertainly. "Why?"

"Will you teach me?" she asked.

"Is this something to do with that letter of yours?" he asked, catching on.

There was no point saying that she didn't have a letter, because he had seen it. He didn't know what was in it, though. Nor did she. "Will you teach me?" she repeated.

"Fine. Now, go to sleep."

She closed her eyes, satisfied that some part of her mission was being fulfilled. What did the letter contain? she wondered. What secret had her father entrusted to her? "Murtagh?" she called, suddenly remembering something.

"What is it _now_?" he asked, sounding exasperated.

"Thank you."

There was a long moment of silence, before he answered, sounding extremely uncertain about his words. "You're… welcome."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review! I promise (cross my heart) that next week, I will not be so slack with updates!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Admittedly, I'm being _very_ slack on updating this. I say I'll update every Tuesday… and I don't. Well, seeing as I have a total incapability to fulfill a promise I make to you guys, I'm going to rephrase that, because it's not fair on you if I can't keep that promise.**

**I promise I will update on a day of the week when my guilt is getting the better of me. Whether Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday or Monday, I promise that I _will _update it.**

**My latest excuse is that I have had exams recently, and after every exam I have had the exact same desire - to simply lie down and sleep. I've been lazy, and I've been selfish, but no more. (Having said that, I'll probably wind up continuing my laziness and selfishness, purely because I know myself too well.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize, including Shakespeare's lines from Macbeth. Forgive me – I've been studying it lately, so it's on my mind.**

* * *

><p>There was a rough hand shaking her awake, and Lianne's eyes snapped open. "Get up," Murtagh's voice told her, sounding irritated. Was he always this way? she wondered. "We've got a fair way to go."<p>

Blearily, she tried to get up, but her ankle jolted and she sat back down again, letting out a small squeak of surprise. She was no expert in injuries, and hadn't really given any thought to her ankle, but as she looked at it, she saw that she had made a massive mistake.

Murtagh whistled, and Lianne didn't think he was impressed. "How on earth did you walk on that?" he asked. "It's at least twice the normal size."

"I didn't think it was important," Lianne confessed.

"It's no wonder they caught you," he commented, kneeling down to examine it. Lianne wasn't sure whether he was commenting on her stupidity or her ankle, but she winced as he probed it gently with his fingers. It was odd, how gentle they were. He was obviously a seasoned warrior, and yet his touch was as soft as a breeze. He stood up briskly. "You'll have to ride."

Lianne cast a look at the big grey warhorse and shuddered at the thought of it. "No, I can walk," she protested. "I did it before."

"You'll only make it worse," he replied, rolling his eyes at her naivety. "It's quicker if you just ride. You won't slow us down."

Lianne still seemed uncertain. "But it's your horse."

"I don't care – ride with me, if it makes you feel better. All I care about is getting away from here, because when the Empire finds out you've killed some of their soldiers, they'll send more, and I'm not willing to be caught because some girl refused to ride on a horse."

"I've never ridden a horse before, though," Lianne told him.

"It's not difficult. Just hang on to me." Before she could protest further, he picked her up, and set her on the horse. She clung onto its mane as if she would slide off at any moment as he finished packing up the camp. When he looked at her clinging to his horse, he sighed. "You'll have to let go if I'm going to get up," he reasoned. She let one hand go and, finding she could somewhat balance without holding on, let go of the other hand. As he mounted quickly, she almost slid off, but he pulled her arms around his waist. "Just hang on there," he told her. "And try not to scream."

She nodded, and hid her face. She wasn't going to like this, she could tell. As he kicked the horse into a gallop, she clung onto him tighter than ever, and prayed she wouldn't fall off. The last thing she needed was to look like even more of an idiot in front of him.

In front of her, Murtagh smirked. She seemed like such a country girl – quiet, mild-mannered, and rather backwards in her ways. He wondered why on earth that letter was so important to her – important enough to ask a total stranger to travel with them and teach her how to read. No wonder the Empire had been chasing her.

Whatever the reason, he was reluctant to force it out of her right at this moment. There would be plenty of time to coax it out of her – teaching someone to read was not a quick process.

* * *

><p>As they stopped for the night, Murtagh helped Lianne off his horse. "<em>You<em> are a _terrible_ rider," he commented wryly. "I thought all country girls learned to ride."

Lianne shrugged. "This girl didn't." She winced. "And if you get sore muscles every time you ride, I think I'm glad I didn't."

Murtagh smirked. "Just wait until tomorrow morning. If you think that's bad, you're in for a shock." He pulled his pack off his horse, and picketed his horse near a nearby tree. The clearing he had chosen was small, but offered plenty of trees to hide them from any unwanted visitors, and to help keep them dry if it rained. Looking at the clear sky as his horse guzzled water, he reflected that this was unlikely to happen. He looked over to Lianne, who was limping around and collecting wood for a fire. She winced every time she put weight on her swollen ankle, and he sighed. "How bad is it?"

She looked up, startled that he would ask out of concern. "Not bad," she replied.

"Liar," he commented, as she winced again. "Stop doing that – you'll make it worse."

"I thought you said you'd fixed me up," she countered.

"I never said that."

"The phrase _'You'll undo all my good work'_ is what I remember."

"I see it this way – we can argue about who said something, or you can stop collecting firewood and I can fix it up for you," he told her.

He was making sense, she reasoned, and so she obliged. As she dumped the firewood onto the ground unceremoniously, he motioned for her to sit down. As she obeyed, he took a blanket and tore it into strips. He doused another blanket in water, and wrapped the cold, wet cloth around her ankle. "Keep that on it," he ordered. "It looks like a sprain, but it's not too good."

She obeyed, and he wrapped the strips of cloth around her ankle, securing the wet one to it. "It'll keep the swelling down, and you should be able to walk on it a lot better," he told her.

He stood up, and began starting a fire. She watched carefully, taking in his movements, before speaking. "Did you mean what you said?"

He looked at her. "About teaching you to read?"

She nodded.

"Of course I did. I don't break promises," he told her. The fire took hold of the kindling, and he began building it up until the heat was warming them both. He handed her some bread from his pack, and she split it into two, before giving him half. They ate in complete silence, and when they had finished, he leaned towards the ground and drew an 'a' in the dirt. "That's the letter 'a'," he told her. "Copy it."

She frowned, scrutinized what he had drawn for a moment. "That's on my letter." She pulled it from her bag and showed him. "See?"

He nodded. "That's right."

She began carefully tracing what he had done into the dirt. "Like that?" she asked, her hand wobbling slightly with the concentration.

He nodded. "A good way to remember it is by thinking of something that starts with that letter." He thought for a moment, and then brought out an apple from his pack. "Like this. Apple starts with 'a', so that's how you can remember it."

Lianne frowned again. "A for apple," she echoed. She nodded. "That makes sense." She drew it in the dirt again, this time with more confidence. "A for apple."

Murtagh nodded again. "Good." He drew a 'b' in the dirt next to the 'a'. "That's the letter 'b'. Copy it." They continued with this until the sun sank, and the light of the fire was too little to see by. Murtagh stood up and scuffed out the writing, before banking the fire for the night. "There are some blankets next to the pack," he told Lianne, who obediently stood up and hobbled over towards it. Pulling the blankets out, she cast a look at Murtagh, who was checking the campsite once more to make sure they were safe.

He wasn't as bad as he seemed to want people to think he was, she reflected. He had let her accompany him, when he didn't have to. He had made her ride a horse when he could have told her to walk. He had bound her ankle up. He was even teaching her to read. He wasn't that sour towards her.t

So why did he not want people to think that?

* * *

><p>"<em>My name... is Lianne<em>," read the girl in question slowly. "_I am... sev-en-teen years old, and I have brown hair_." She looked up. "That's right, isn't it?"

"Good," Murtagh answered. "Try this." He quickly wrote out something. "Read that."

"_By the pri-cking of my thum_b_s_," Lianne read, accidentally emphasizing the 'b'. "_Some-thing wick-ed this way comes_." She looked up at him. "What does that even mean?"

"No idea," Murtagh replied casually. "But it sounds good, doesn't it? Sometimes I think I should be a poet."

Lianne laughed. "You'd make a very poor one, if the first thing that comes to mind is the colour of my hair," she commented.

Murtagh raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really?" He quickly wrote another sentence on the ground. "Read it." He seemed extremely satisfied with himself.

"_This my hand will ra… ra-ther the mul…multi…"_ Lianne trailed off, and shot Murtagh a glare. "Alright, you win. What does it say?"

"Read it yourself," he replied. "Sound it out."

Lianne glared at him again. "_This my hand will ra-ther the mul-ti-tu-din-ous seas in-ca… in-car-na-dine_," she read, placing a finger underneath each syllable as she went. "_Mak-ing the green one red_." She shot him an incredulous look. "Care to explain what it means? Where on earth did you think of this?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I read it somewhere in a scroll. I don't know where. I think it was something about guilt. But you're doing well."

Lianne blushed. "Thank you." Since memorizing what Murtagh wrote out every night for the past few weeks, she had slowly progressed to simple words, and from there, on to full, albeit still simple, sentences. It wasn't so much a compliment to her as a compliment to Murtagh – he was the one who had insisted on her practicing every evening. "Would it be enough to read the letter?"

Murtagh shook his head. "Not yet."

Her shoulders sank, and her heart with it, but she knew he was telling the truth. She liked that about him. She liked how he wasn't afraid to share work that was traditionally classified as a woman's job. She liked that he didn't abandon her even after her ankle was healed. She liked how he would keep an eye on it when he thought she wasn't looking.

Their initial wariness had faded along with the pain in her ankle, and they had progressed from there to a stage of what was more or less a level of tolerance bordering on what _seemed_ rather like some form of friendship, although there was always a feeling that he was never quite honest from her, as if he was holding some great secret about himself away from her, and wouldn't let her hear it. It frustrated her. Why would he not be totally honest with her? Had she not been totally honest with him?

She thought about this as she watched him examine his sword in the firelight. As he produced a whetstone from his bag and began to sharpen it, she finally voiced her thoughts. "Murtagh?"

"Hmm?"

"How…" She took a deep breath and forged on ahead. "How long have you been running from the Empire?"

"A while," Murtagh replied, his eyes firmly on the sword.

Lianne rolled her eyes. "Are you ever going to tell my _why_ you're running?"

"It's better if you don't know." He seemed determined to end the conversation there, and Lianne reluctantly dropped that line of questioning, choosing to take up another. She'd been considering it for a while, ever since she'd watched him hunt a rabbit for their dinner one night.

"I've been thinking," she began again.

He didn't look up, or even acknowledge her words, and she bit her lip, and wondered how to put the question to him without seeming silly. "Have you… ever… _cried_ when you killed someone?"

"No." The answer was flat, emotionless. He looked up from his work, and there was an almost unnatural flash of concern on his face. "_You_ did, didn't you?"

She nodded slowly. There was no point denying it, not when he could read it on her face. "Am I weak?" The question was barely louder than a whisper, and yet he shook his head.

"No. You just _care_." There was a hint of disdain in his voice, and she felt a little hurt by it. Didn't he like her anymore?

"Is that bad?" she asked, almost afraid of how he would answer.

"You won't make a cold-hearted assassin, if that's what you're hoping for," he told her sharply. His voice seemed to soften slightly, almost an unnatural act for him. "It's not bad for you. It means you have a conscience. Not many people can claim to have one these days."

She could sense that he was frustrated with her questioning, however carefully he might be choosing his words. His work was slowly becoming hastier, and his hands were tightening over the whetstone. She wondered what was so wrong with having a conscience. Surely that was a good thing? Why did Murtagh seem so disgusted with the concept? He wasn't evil. He had rescued her – he must have some sort of conscience.

* * *

><p>As she lay in her blankets that night, waiting for Murtagh to come back, she felt a flash of uneasiness run through her. She knew he had gone to get some more firewood, and she didn't want to fall asleep without making sure he was safely there with her, so she did her best to stay awake until he got back. It wasn't difficult – her mind seemed so fixed on him and whether he was safe or not, that staying awake seemed a second priority.<p>

When he eventually did come back, he seemed surprised to see her awake. "I thought you'd be asleep by now," he commented, dumping the firewood on to the ground and coming to sit near her.

She shook her head, and propped herself up on one elbow, resting her head on her hand. "Someone had to make sure you came back alright."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm not a child, Lianne. I'm older than you are, and I can protect myself."

"Someone still has to look out for you though," she pointed out. "You don't have to shut everyone away. Sometimes people just want to help you."

Murtagh rolled his eyes. "Enough of this."

"Of what?" she asked, innocently.

"Asking me why I'm running away from the Empire. Don't deny it," he added, seeing her about to protest. "You've been asking this sort of stuff all day, for weeks now. I've told you so many times – I can't tell you. And if it's not _why _I'm running, it's _always_ about people left behind. You _always_ talk about your father, and all the people from your town, and then you ask me if there's anyone _I _care about. _There isn't_. I've told you time and again that my parents are dead."

"There must have been _someone_," Lianne retorted. "Everyone has someone that they care about, or that cares about them. Didn't you even have one friend where you lived?"

"The only person who was ever kind to me was Tornac," Murtagh said flatly.

"Who's Tornac?" Lianne asked, knowing she had been right. She fought back a smile, determined to find out _something_ about the young man with whom she was travelling.

"The man who taught me to fight." He saw her open her mouth to speak. "Don't get excited," he snapped. "He's dead too."

"But he was still a friend," she pointed out triumphantly, a smile playing at her lips. "He still cared about you."

Murtagh looked infuriated, but seemed to swallow his frustration. "Just go to sleep, Lianne," he ordered.

Lianne lay down again, albeit unwillingly, and closed her eyes. "I saw what's on your back," she commented, when all was quiet.

Murtagh clenched his fists. Would she _ever_ stop talking? "_What_?"

"You _know_ what I'm talking about," Lianne told him, opening her eyes again. "That scar on your back." She was quiet for a moment. "How did you get it?"

"I don't remember," Murtagh lied. "It happened a long time ago."

"Nobody could forget receiving that," Lianne disagreed. "Does it hurt?"

"Not any more." He paused, testing the waters. "It must make you feel sick."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't alarmed when I saw it," she said quietly. "But it's part of you. You don't sicken me as a whole. Why should you pay for something that is only part of you? You didn't ask for it, did you?"

There was a flash of annoyance at her answer – _always_ the _same_ damned answer – and yet he felt unnaturally relieved by it. "When did you see it?" he demanded

"You'd been gathering firewood again. I think you must have thought I was asleep."

"Well, why don't you _go to sleep now?_" He was getting more and more irritated by the second. She should stop sticking her nose into business that wasn't hers, he thought.

He heard her sigh, and roll onto her side so her back faced the fire. As he waited for her to fall asleep, he slowly unclenched his fists. It wasn't her fault that she was so damned optimistic, he told himself. She was just brought up that way, as he had been brought up to be practical.

If he told her who he was, how would she react? Would she be alarmed by it, as she had been with his scar? Or would she simply accept it? Part of him wanted to tell her, just to see how she would react, to see the look of horror flash across her face as she realized whom she had been travelling with, who she had been taught by. It would reassure him that he wasn't changing, wasn't going to be relieved if she simply accepted it.

But when he looked over at her still form, he knew that he didn't want to. To reveal something that big would test her limits to breaking point, and, although he would rather have cut off his own sword arm than admit it to anyone, he liked Lianne. He liked how honest she was and how she was willing to work hard, a testament to her life. And, if he was brutally honest with _himself_, he found her optimism infuriatingly refreshing. She was the closest thing he'd had to a friend in a long time. He didn't _want_ to test the limits of it.

He looked back into the fire with the sinking feeling that he was going soft.

Damn it.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, so apologies for the Macbeth references once again. Clearly I've been studying it too much.**

**Hopefully Murtagh isn't too OOC. Is he? Let me know. You know I like it when people point out stuff I've missed.**

**Sarah :D**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: BAM! Bet you didn't see that coming, did you? A new chapter! **

**I have no excuse for my extremely long break from this. Writer's block? Exams (including a massive, nail-biting one)? An even bigger pile of work that I've been drowning in up until this moment? Does that appease the (probably few) people who still remember me?**

**Well, how about this, then? Oh good.**

* * *

><p>The evening was drawing in when Murtagh heard Lianne muffle a yawn with her hand. There was no way she would make it through a reading lesson tonight without falling asleep, and even if she did, she would make mistakes in it. They would have to stop and rest for the night.<p>

In truth, he was feeling much the same, although he would never let her know that. He knew that she saw him as some sort of indestructible force, and even though it wasn't true, he was somewhat flattered by her unwavering faith in his abilities.

He heard her yawn again, and he sighed. "Next clearing we get to, we're stopping."

"But I'm not tired," she protested, even as she yawned again. "I can keep going."

He twisted to look at her, and raised his eyebrows. "You're practically asleep in the saddle," he replied. "We're stopping." He paused for a second, and frowned. "Did you hear that?"

Lianne stifled another yawn, straining her ears to listen to whatever it was that Murtagh had heard. "I don't hear anyth…" she trailed off, as she caught the sound of some sort of creature.

There was a long pause, where Lianne's heart began beating faster and faster. What if it were Imperial soldiers? Could they have found them? What would they do? What would she do? Lianne was not oblivious to the fact that she had no fighting ability. The sound broke out again, and this time there was some sort of hissing as well. Lianne's eyes widened. "What is it?" she breathed, not daring to raise her voice any louder. When Murtagh didn't respond, she nudged him. "Murtagh?"

Slowly and quietly, Murtagh pulled an arrow from his quiver and laid it across the strings of his bow, unwilling to remain unready. Lianne loosened her grip on his waist, knowing that he would have told her to do that anyway. He slid off the horse, and pulled her with him. As he led his horse towards a tree, he pulled her closer to him. "Stay with the horse," he ordered, in barely more than a whisper. "Don't leave unless I tell you to." When she looked uncertain, he gripped her shoulder. "Don't move," he ordered, the strength of his grip increasing until it began to hurt. When she nodded, he let go, and stalked into the trees.

As his horse eyed her with what seemed like confusion, Lianne sincerely hoped that Murtagh would be alright. What if they were Imperial soldiers? What if it were something worse? What if Murtagh were injured? What if he were killed? What would she do then?

She twisted part of her skirt into her fist and tried to keep her fear under control. Try as she might, she could not help it. She was afraid, and she knew it.

There was a muffled yell, and Lianne let out a squeak. Clapping her hands over her mouth, she prayed that she hadn't been heard by anyone, but the only sound she could hear was the beat of her own heart as it began to beat quicker and quicker in fear. She didn't know how long Murtagh had been gone for. Surely not that long?

She strained her ears, trying to listen for any sign that would tell her Murtagh was alright, but there was none. Was he alive? What if he wasn't? What if he was dead? Should she leave?

He had told her not to, though. If he were alive and well, he wouldn't want her to leave. That would be selfish of her.

But it would be so easy to do that. She had finally mastered how to get on a horse, although she still sat, in Murtagh's words, "like a sack of potatoes". She could leave, get help from somewhere…

Where from? Where could she go? She had no idea where the nearest town was. She had no idea where she even was. What could she do that would help Murtagh anyway? Where there were towns, there were usually Imperial soldiers, and if Murtagh wasn't dead, he wouldn't appreciate her bringing back Imperial soldiers. She couldn't do that anyway, not if she wanted to keep the letter safe. So what could she do?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching until it was too late. A hand went over her mouth, and she gasped, but the sound was muffled. Then she looked and saw whose hand it was. "You're alive," she mumbled, taking the hand away.

Murtagh narrowed his eyes at her critically. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I heard a yell," she explained, feeling rather dimwitted.

"Oh, that." Murtagh shrugged. "That wasn't me. I've got a surprise for you."

It was Lianne's turn to narrow her eyes. "What sort of surprise?" she asked skeptically. "Good or bad?"

"Let's just say you'll be amazed," Murtagh replied. He grasped her wrist and pulled her and his horse towards a small clearing spotted with arrows, where two people were slumped on the ground, both unconscious. The smaller seemed to be a boy, only a year or so younger than Lianne was, with brown, sweat-soaked hair falling into eyes of the same colour. The taller was an old man, with silver hair spilling from his head and mixing with his white beard, which was set underneath a proud hooked nose and blue eyes. A dagger protruded from between two of his ribs. To the side of the clearing stood two horses – one pure white, the other a light bay.

Lianne's eyes widened suddenly, as she heard the same noise they had heard before. She turned, and her mouth dropped open as she saw what had been making the noise.

It was a dragon, chained and muzzled, watching them suspiciously.

She turned back to Murtagh, who seemed to be doing his best not to laugh at her behaviour. "You found the Rider," she said, amazed. But at the same time, there was a part of her that was a little disappointed that they had and she wasn't sure of its size. Would this mean that Murtagh would leave?

"We found him," he corrected.

"Which one is he?" she asked, gesturing to the two people.

"Does it matter?" Murtagh said, picketing his horse near a tree. "They're no use if they're dead. You check those two, and I'll handle the dragon."

Lianne nodded, and moved towards the boy. Just as she was about to untie him, the dragon snarled, having had its muzzle removed by Murtagh, and Lianne jumped, startled. She looked at the dragon. "I just want to help," she said quietly.

"You really think talking to it will help?" Murtagh asked skeptically.

Lianne shrugged. "It's better than just dismissing it, I suppose," she replied. She made to untie the boy again, but the dragon snarled once more, and she gave up, moving towards the old man. Her eyes widened as she looked at the wound. "What should I do?"

"How deep is it?" he called, taking another chain off the dragon.

Lianne paused. "Deep enough. It's right between two of his ribs."

"Cut away that part of his robes, and wash it out with some of the water from the waterskin. Use one of the spare shirts to soak up the blood and bandage it up. I'm assuming you know how to do that?" he asked patronisingly

Lianne's back straightened proudly and her shoulders went back. "I'm not an idiot, Murtagh. I may not be as experienced as you, but I'm not an idiot either." She picked up the waterskin and sloshed some water over the old man's wound, before taking one of Murtagh's shirts and wadding it up. She pressed it to the wound, and looked at her skirt, hesitating. It was a relatively new one that Murtagh had made her buy in one of the towns, having (truthfully) said that her old one was beyond repair. She didn't really want to tear it up.

"Don't even think of it," Murtagh commented. "Tear one of the blankets up."

She rolled her eyes – how did he always know what she was thinking? – and picked one of the blankets up. Tearing it into strips, she strapped them to the wadded up shirt, and hoped that the old man would pull through.

Murtagh came over to examine her work. "Not bad," he told her, with a note of approval in his voice. He picked up the old man and carried him towards a fallen log on the other side of the clearing.

"Did you want some help with those chains?" she asked, gesturing to the dragon.

"No need. They're almost off anyway." He walked back towards the dragon and unlocked the last chain, to prove his point. Freed from its bonds, the dragon immediately stalked towards the boy, spreading its wings either side of him protectively, and answering the question of who was the Rider.

Lianne watched it go, wondering how a creature that looked so fierce could be so gentle at the same time. Murtagh tugged on her arm. "Here." He sat her down on the fallen log, near enough to the Rider, yet far enough to stop the dragon from snarling at them. He began starting a fire, and Lianne watched silently.

"Are you still tired?" Murtagh asked, without looking up from his work.

Lianne blinked, startled. She shook her head. "Not anymore. I think it's the excitement."

"Feeling up to a reading lesson?"

She shrugged. "If you want."

He sat down next to her on the log and began tracing words into the dirt. Lianne read them out slowly, faltering on some words but correcting herself without Murtagh's help. As she practiced, she found that she didn't need to sound out some of the words, remembering them from previous lessons, and Murtagh seemed to be running out of things to write.

When Lianne was in the middle of a sentence, they both heard a noise from the Rider, and looked towards the dragon. Murtagh picked up his bow warily. From underneath one of its wings, the boy was struggling to his knees. He looked up at them, taking shallow breaths, and was obviously in a lot of pain. "Who are you?"

Murtagh's hands tightened around his bow. "Murtagh."

In sharp contrast to his moody reply, Lianne smiled brightly. "My name's Lianne. Who are you?"

"Eragon," mumbled the boy, pulling his hands underneath his legs so that they ended up in front of him. He visibly winced. "Why did you help us?"

"You're not the only enemies that the Ra'zac have," Murtagh replied. "We were tracking them."

"You know who they are?"

"Yes." Murtagh's reply was quiet and terse.

Lianne eyed the boy curiously as he mumbled something, and her eyes widened as the ropes suddenly snapped off his wrists. How had he done that? She watched as he tried to stand, but fell back again, clenching his teeth, and she sprang forward to try to help him, but the dragon snarled again, and she shrank back. "Sorry," she mumbled. "We tried to help before, but your dragon wouldn't let either of us near you."

"Her name's Saphira," corrected Eragon, and Lianne nodded. The dragon gave one more growl, before folding her wings away and backing away. Both Lianne and Murtagh walked forward to help him, Murtagh eyeing the dragon warily. As they helped him to stand, Eragon yelped, and would have fallen if the two had not supported him. They helped him over to the fire, and Eragon looked at the old man. "How is he?"

"Bad," Murtagh replied, as he and Lianne lowered Eragon to the ground. "The knife went right between his ribs. You can look at him in a minute, but first we'd better look at you." He helped Eragon remove his shirt, and whistled.

Lianne's eyes widened in shock. "Ouch!"

"Ouch," Eragon agreed. There was a blotchy bruise running down his left side, with some parts of the red, swollen skin broken. Murtagh put a hand on the bruise and pressed lightly. Eragon let out a cry of pain, and the dragon growled.

"Lianne, get me a blanket," Murtagh ordered, and Lianne scurried to obey. Murtagh tore it into strips and bound Eragon's chest up. "I think you have at least two broken ribs. You're lucky you're not coughing up blood."

Eragon slipped his shirt back on. "Yes… I'm lucky." He took a shallow breath and moved towards the old man, examining Lianne's handiwork. He unravelled the bandage carefully.

"I wouldn't do that," Murtagh warned. "He'll bleed to death without it."

Eragon shook his head, and pulled the cloth away, examining the wound. He paused for a moment, before he held his palm over the wound. He mumbled something, before his hand glowed, and the old man's skin knitted together rapidly. When he had finished, he sat down.

"What's his name?" Lianne asked curiously.

Eragon looked at her, almost startled that she was watching him. "Brom," he replied. "His name is Brom."

Lianne smiled. "He'll get better now, won't he?"

Eragon shrugged. "I can only mend what's on the surface – I don't know enough to mend whatever's damaged inside. It's up to him." He closed his eyes for a moment. "My… my head feels like it's floating in the clouds."

"You probably need to eat," Murtagh replied. "I'll make soup."

"I'll help," Lianne offered. She offered a friendly smile to Eragon. "I'm sure your friend will be fine," she said reassuringly.

He gave her a weak smile, and she moved to help Murtagh with the soup. As they cooked, Lianne's eyes could not help but wander to Eragon. He was so young to be a Rider, she thought. How old was he? Did he have any family? Friends? Where was he from?

She handed Eragon a bowl of soup, and he took great spoonfuls, before looking up at Murtagh. "How long has it been since the Ra'zac fled?"

"A few hours," Murtagh replied, taking a spoonful of his own soup.

"We have to go before they come back with reinforcements," Eragon said.

"Well, you might be able to travel, but he can't," Murtagh told him, gesturing to Brom. "You don't get up and ride away after being stabbed in the ribs."

Eragon seemed to think for a moment before speaking. "Saphira can carry him, but we'll need a litter. Can you make one? I don't have the strength."

Murtagh stood up. "Wait here." Lianne made to follow him, but then thought better of it. What exactly could she do to help him? She wasn't strong enough, and Eragon was clearly in no state to be left alone.

So while Eragon picked up his belongings, she packed the rest of their campsite up, making sure that all Murtagh's belongings were together and that her small bag still contained the letter and the drugged mead. She handed Eragon a blanket. "For the litter," she told him, when he looked confused.

He nodded. "Thank you." Then he paused. "Where are you from?"

"A little town called Littlewood. It's not far from Leona Lake, and it's surrounded by trees. What about you?"

"Carvahall, up in the Palancar Valley," he replied. "It's not very big either."

Lianne smiled, wondering if all the things people had said about Dragon Riders were true – were they really as strong as ten men? Did they have pointed ears, or was that just elves?

She stole a look at Eragon as he packed up a bag. No, his ears weren't pointed. She wondered what was true, and almost asked him, but stopped. Later, she told herself. She could ask him later.

Murtagh soon came back with two saplings. He laid them parallel on the ground and then tied the blanket between the poles, before tying Brom to the litter. When he had finished, Saphira took hold of the litter and began to fly away. "I never thought I would see a sight like that," commented Murtagh, with an odd note in his voice. If Lianne didn't know better, she would have said that he was amazed.

As Saphira disappeared, Eragon limped to one of his horses and mounted it gingerly. "Thank you for helping us," he said. "You should leave now. Ride away as far as you can. You'll be in danger if the Empire finds you with us. We can't protect you, and I wouldn't see harm come to either of you on our account."

Murtagh and Lianne exchanged a look, before Murtagh spoke. "A pretty speech," he said, scuffing out the fire. "But where are you going to go? Is there somewhere nearby you can rest in safety?"

Eragon shook his head. "No."

"In that case, I think we'll accompany you until you're out of danger," Murtagh told him. "Lianne and I don't have anywhere better to be, and if we stay with you, we'll get a shot at the Ra'zac sooner than if we were on our own. Interesting things usually happen around a Rider. Unless Lianne doesn't want to?" He looked at her.

She smiled. "Of course I don't. You don't mind, do you?" She looked at Eragon when she said the last part.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before shrugging. "Join us if you wish."

Murtagh helped Lianne onto his horse, before getting on himself. As she wound her arms around his waist as she had done so many times before, she allowed herself another victorious smile.

They had found the Dragon Rider.

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><p><strong>AN: Hope you enjoyed it. Please review, and I'm so sorry for the delay.**


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